Another turning point, a fork stuck in the road

. . .
Zen stands on my chest. His long ginger-colored fur would wake me gently, if it were not for all the sensitive spots he manages to step on (partly on purpose, I suspect). Scar tissue in the right breast, fibrosis underneath, puzzling tenderness in the left breast, and residual soreness from the cancer and irradiation of my sternum. I reach up to pet him, to try to get him to lie down, but he wants both hands. I am too groggy to give them both for long, so he gives me a warning bite on the idle arm. It doesn't hurt at all. Fortunately, Mr. Cardinal begins his morning song right outside the window above my pillow, and Zen abandons me for the window sill. His energetic takeoff makes me wince, but at least now I can turn on my side and go back to sleep.

This is a time of great stress for John and me. I am on chemo again, and my diabetes is out of control, so the last thing I feel like doing is packing for our move. John is on a 24-hour heart monitor, so that his new electrophysiologist (a cardiologist who specializes in arrhythmias) can try to determine a way to treat his atrial fibrillation. And then there's a big megillah I won't talk about here, having to do with his family, something that has made me entirely lose faith in the press, and brought back all my seething hatred for the Department of Corrections, or, as my son always calls it, the Department of Corruption.

Despite my crankiness, I am looking forward to tomorrow's Midsummer ritual. It looks like we'll have 10 to 15 people, or maybe even more! I really need this, so I'm very pleased that it looks like even the weather will cooperate.

I also managed to get another photo done, and I think it came out really well.


It actually has four watchers on eBay, so I'm hoping it will sell.

May your day bring you everything you need.

May
. . .